


Kindle The Flame

by amyfortuna



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: A Large Explosion, Adultery, All This Planning Is For Nothing In The Face Of Feanaro, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Brother/Brother Incest, F/M, Gratuitous Submission, Hand Jobs, Irresistible Force Meets Immovable Object, Kissing, Kneeling, M/M, Nolofinwe's Killer Fashion Sense, Porn with Feelings, Rimming, Ring Kissing, Sibling Incest, Spit As Lube, The Author Regrets Nothing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-10
Updated: 2015-05-10
Packaged: 2018-03-29 22:39:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3913276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amyfortuna/pseuds/amyfortuna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ñolofinwë is willing to do anything it takes to have peace with Fëanáro.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kindle The Flame

**Author's Note:**

> Fëanáro = Feanor  
> Ñolofinwë = Fingolfin  
>  _fea_ = the spirit or soul of an Elf

It was getting near the time set for the meeting, and Anairë watched with amusement as her husband, dressed only in undergarments, vacillated between two different sets of robes, unable to make up his mind. 

"It's like you're a maiden heading off to her first lover's tryst," she said. "Just pick one. I doubt he'll even notice what you're wearing." 

"That's not the point," Ñolofinwë said, glancing up at her. "He doesn't need to notice it, consciously. There's a whole subconscious impression I wish to convey, and I'm not sure which of these says it best." He looked down at the robes again, frowning, looking first at the dark blue with cream accents, then the lighter blue with darker blue accents. 

"If you're going for a general theme of surrender, but would like to keep your dignity intact," Anairë said, coming over to stand by him, "I'd go with the dark blue and cream - the blue is closer to your own colour, and white is for peace, you know that." 

Ñolofinwë nodded. "Yes, you're right." His face was a little flushed. "I just think I look better in the other one." Then he seemed to make up his mind. "No, I'll wear the darker one, of course." He turned to her. "I think I should also wear something with his colours. Can you see if I have any red jewellery?" 

Anairë made her way over to the jewellery box on top of the dressing table, and rifled through it as Ñolofinwë pulled on the robe and fastened it. Most of Ñolofinwë's jewellery was blue or white gems in a silver setting, but there was - "There's a red ring here, Nolvo, will that work?" 

Ñolofinwë turned, his face lighting up. "Oh. That. I haven't seen that in years, but it's perfect." Anairë handed it over, and Ñolofinwë looked at it, turning it over in his hand. The ring was beautiful, a red gemstone that seemed to be almost lit from within as if on fire, set in a silver band, gloriously simple. Ñolofinwë slid it onto the first finger of his left hand and it fit perfectly. 

"He gave this to me, you know," he mused. "One day, not long before you and I met. I was scarcely more than a child, and going through this terribly awkward phase where everything I said and did seemed to go wrong. And then he gave this to me, out of the blue, when he and Nerdanel were visiting with young Nelyo." He raised his hand, twisting it to show the ring from all angles. "He just smiled at me, took my hand, and put this on it, without a word about it, then or since. It's the only piece of jewellery he ever made for me, and I don't know why he even gave it to me." 

Anairë nodded. "You've not worn it much." 

Ñolofinwë considered a bit. "No, that's true. I'd almost forgotten I had it. And lately, since we've been, ah, at odds, it's been hard to think about the few times he was ever kind to me."

"But it is important to think about those times," Anairë said quietly, "if you are to find any common ground with him."

"I must," Ñolofinwë said. "Preserving the peace is too important for my pride - or his. I'll do anything at all to mend things between us." He sighed. "I do not like these rumours I hear of the Feanorians forging weapons. I'll be as patient and as conciliatory as I can be, but that must stop." 

"Agreed," Anairë said, and smiled as Ñolofinwë turned back to check his hair in the mirror. "Dearest, you look ravishing, and you're going to be late if you keep fussing over everything. Your hair looks fine, your clothes are perfect, and that red gem on your hand should hopefully spark some sort of feeling from your brother. It might not even be paranoia and suspicion, for a change." 

Ñolofinwë smiled back at her, but sighed again. "Well, then. Here goes nothing." He took her hand. "If it goes well, I won't be back until late."

Anairë leaned forward and kissed him lightly. "I won't wait up," she said with a smile. "I really do think you have every chance, Nolvo. What happens when the irresistible force - you - meets the immovable object that is Fëanáro?"

"A large explosion, most likely," Ñolofinwë said, fighting back a smile. 

"Exactly," Anairë said. "The explosion is inevitable, so have it on your terms. Make it an explosion of positive feeling rather than negative, if you can." 

\------

Afterwards, Anaire's words felt like _permission_ , almost, as Ñolofinwë tried to rationalise it to himself. But in the moment, approaching a side entrance to the palace, his thoughts were thoroughly taken up with exactly how he would try to get Fëanáro to listen to him. 

They would be meeting very much alone, with orders not to be disturbed, in a little-used part of the palace. Ñolofinwë was first to arrive, for all he had been running late, and he walked around the expansive room, considering. There was a large bed at the far end of the room, separated from the rest of the room by a dividing screen that had been set up. 

At the end of the room where they would be meeting, there were two chairs, relatively comfortable, and exactly alike, next to a round table with space for notes to be written, if needed. Ñolofinwë pushed the chairs into a more amiable position, comfortable, casually next to each other, both slightly turned toward the other. 

There was another table in the room and on it was a tray with a selection of various drinks and some fruit. Ñolofinwë checked it over, making sure that what he remembered of Fëanáro's favourites were there: a nice red wine, plenty of cold water, and little red apples. Fëanáro's tastes in general were much simpler than his own, but Ñolofinwë also prided himself a bit on being the more adaptable one of the two. He did, however, note that his own favourite eiderflower and apple drink was also present. 

Check of the room completed, Ñolofinwë fell to pacing, glancing casually out the window from time to time, drawing back the curtains just a little, so he could see the people passing by. He was still not sure how to begin. There were no overt hostilities, just an increase in rumours, and a few little, niggling, things that worried him. 

He and his half-brother had never really been close in friendship, but now they seemed very distant, and he was concerned about these rumours of weapons. Findekano had been the latest to bring them home, starting to say something about having begged Maitimo for swordfighting training, then going bright red and shutting up. Irissë, too, had been seen quarrelling with Turkafinwë and Morifinwë , who she was usually very friendly with, and when asked about why this was, had answered coldly that if the Sons of Feanor cared more for their father's fears than for a friend and cousin they claimed to cherish, she was _done_ with them. 

At the window, Ñolofinwë twisted the edge of the curtain that he was holding idly in his hand, and considered what he could do. 

He had always tried to match Fëanáro in every way; he was aware he could not possibly outdo him. Their fights, from childhood onward, were spectacular things that nearly always led to severe injury, whether physical or emotional. Fëanáro's words were always sharp and cutting, and Ñolofinwë made his own words the same, fighting back with the worst insults he could think of. They pulled no punches, took no prisoners, and never thought of yielding to any authority save that of their own father. Certainly never to each other. 

And suddenly Ñolofinwë knew what he needed to do to heal what lay between them, to make Fëanáro love him instead of fear him. He glanced down at the ring on his hand, red as if with fire against his pale skin, and shivered. 

Surrender was the only way to win. He swayed, grasping at the curtain, clutching it in his hand. He would have to kneel down, give in, go passive and willing underneath Fëanáro. And at the thought of that, it was as if a sudden bolt of lightning struck him, centring between his legs, filling him, embracing him. Desire flooded hot through his body at the thought of Fëanáro over him - taking what he wanted, dominating him. Owning him. 

And even as he began to contemplate this, the door at the other side of the room opened, and Fëanáro himself walked in. 

Ñolofinwë took in a sharp gasp of air, dropped the curtain, turned and walked toward his brother. He took one, two, three steps toward the door, then swiftly and smoothly as though he had planned it for weeks instead of just thinking of it that moment, went to his knees before Fëanáro. 

His hands were shaking, pressed palm down against the smooth cloth of his robes. Under his knees, the floor was cold. Ñolofinwë forced himself to look up at Fëanáro, eyes tracing up the black garments to the red eight-pointed star on the breast of his tunic, and the red cloak that fell behind him. Fëanáro was a magnificent sight; pale skin, dark hair, and perfect features very much like Ñolofinwë's own - they could at times almost be mistaken for twins, so alike were they. 

The door fell shut behind Fëanáro, and they looked at each other for a long moment. Emotions flickered over Fëanáro's face: surprise, worry, confusion. Ñolofinwë looked at him for a moment, then quite deliberately dropped his eyes. 

"I am sorry, Fëanáro," he began, "for my part -"

"What is that you wear on your hand?" Fëanáro asked, interrupting him, sweeping over to him with a graceful swirl of his cloak. Ñolofinwë raised his hand for Fëanáro to see, and Fëanáro gave him a bright smile. "Stand up, Ñolofinwë," he said, taking the hand, and raising him to his feet, examining the ring closely. "You wear the Kindler, one of the greatest of my early works." 

"You gave it to me, do you remember?" Ñolofinwë asked, not quite meeting Fëanáro's eyes. That moment, full of a strange and lovely tension, had featured in his dreams for many years without Ñolofinwë quite understanding why. 

Fëanáro bent and kissed the ring, not at all like someone swearing loyalty to a king. "I remember," he said, his lips moving against Ñolofinwë's hand. There was a strange look on his face as he glanced up at Ñolofinwë. "Why did you request this meeting between us?" He did not drop Ñolofinwë's hand, holding it in his own as if he had forgotten it was there, looking at Ñolofinwë with burning eyes. 

Ñolofinwë glanced down, unable to look Fëanáro in the face. Heat was sweeping over him and through him; he was half-hard just from the feel of Fëanáro's lips against his hand, and hardly trusted his voice to remain steady. 

"I am glad that you have come to me here," he began, and cursed his own voice for sounding more like a seductive youth's than an experienced politician's, "for I fear that we are becoming divided. I wish to repair any breach between us." He swallowed, painfully, as Fëanáro regarded him steadily. "We should come together, be united as one...." The double meaning of his words, delivered in such a tone, hit him just after he said them, and he blushed hotly, barely able to continue, to drag his utter failure of a speech on unity back toward something less suggestive. "For are we not one family, Fëanáro, despite everything? For the sake of our father, and for the sake of our children, we cannot let there be a feud between us." 

Fëanáro looked at him for a long moment as the words he'd said echoed around them, then something bright flashed in his eyes, and he dropped Ñolofinwë's hand only to seize him around the waist and drag him into a fierce kiss. Ñolofinwë, not expecting it, flailed a little, gasping, then yielded utterly, opening his mouth to Fëanáro, eyes closing, an explosion of sensation sweeping through his body. 

This. Yes. This was what he had been craving - needing - all these years, all his life. A flood of desire crashed through him, overwhelming everything in its wake. "Fëanáro, please, ah-" he breathed as Fëanáro broke the kiss, looking at him. They were all but melded together from chest to thigh, arms wrapped hard around each other. Ñolofinwë noted with some surprise that he was definitely not alone in his arousal; Fëanáro was hard against his hip, and he squirmed a little, aching to press closer, needing to feel Fëanáro's erection against his own. 

"You want this," Fëanáro said, and it was not a question. "You truly do." 

"Yes," Ñolofinwë said, breathless. Everything he wanted to say was rising in his mind - _I love you in ways that a brother should not_ \- _I have always needed you just like this_ \- _Fëanáro, by all that's good and right, I want you inside me_ \- but he could not seem to get any of these words past his lips, and settled for leaning in, nuzzling Fëanáro's throat, lips pressed lightly against his pulse there. 

Fëanáro trembled against him, breathing out softly, hands sliding up his back to hold him firmly. They stood there for a moment in silence, pressed together, wild happiness surging in Ñolofinwë. 

"Come to bed with me," he said at last, lips moving against Fëanáro's neck. 

"Yes," Fëanáro breathed, and they drew apart reluctantly. Fëanáro unfastened his cloak quickly and laid it aside, throwing it over one of the chairs, then turned to check that the door was locked. 

Ñolofinwë reached out a hand, and Fëanáro took it. Together they made their way past the dividing screen to the large bed on the other side of it. Fëanáro turned, and began unfastening Ñolofinwë's robes with a quick and clever hand, stripping him efficiently. 

It wasn't long before they were both naked, and Ñolofinwë found himself pulling Fëanáro down over himself onto the bed. The first kiss of skin against skin was a revelation; they both gasped, arching against each other, and Ñolofinwë, overwhelmed, tugged Fëanáro down into a long hard kiss. 

"I want you inside me," he whispered, voice husky, when the kiss broke, "but we don't have anything...."

Fëanáro gave him a bright look. "Turn over," he said. "On your hands and knees." It was an order, and Ñolofinwë obeyed without thought, feeling Fëanáro's hands sliding down his back to his buttocks, one finger sliding between them to press gently at his hole. Ñolofinwë gasped at the sensation. It was not painful, just intense, and he was somewhat relieved when Fëanáro did not press further, but instead drew the finger back. 

When he felt the warm wet pressure of Fëanáro's tongue instead, he could not help letting out a ragged moan, dropping his head down to his folded arms. Fëanáro's tongue was talented at far more than words, and Ñolofinwë lost himself in the sensation of it, rocking back, trying to get more of him. Fëanáro's fingers returned but this time it was both intense and utterly pleasurable, and Ñolofinwë let Fëanáro stretch him, lick at him, prepare him thoroughly. 

When the fingers and mouth disappeared, Ñolofinwë was more than ready for more, and groaned blissfully as Fëanáro entered him, slow but sure. It seemed like a long moment went by with just Fëanáro sinking into him, holding him close, breathing hard against his shoulder, his ear. Their hips were rocking together, tiny movements that they could not quite hold back from, long before Fëanáro started to thrust in earnest. 

"Brother," he whispered into Ñolofinwë's ear, and Ñolofinwë gasped it back, pleading, desperate. Fëanáro reached down and took hold of Ñolofinwë's cock, moving his hand too slowly. 

"Please," Ñolofinwë begged. "More. Harder." Fëanáro smiled against his back, and sped up, timing the movement of his hand to his thrusts. 

"Is this what you wanted, what you dreamed about?" Fëanáro said against Ñolofinwë's ear, and Ñolofinwë, almost beyond the ability for thought, just nodded wildly. 

Fëanáro drew back, pushed at his shoulder blades until he was nearly prone on the bed, and thrust into him forcefully, again and again, hand flying up and down Ñolofinwë's cock, thumbing over the head of him as Ñolofinwë's moans increased in pitch and intensity. 

Ñolofinwë was falling, he was flying. It was not enough, and then all at once it was too much and he was shuddering, shaking, overwhelmed by the force of his orgasm. He struggled to hold himself up, not to go limp as Fëanáro thrust once, twice, more and came himself, clinging to him, groaning against his skin. 

Ñolofinwë let himself fall and they collapsed down together onto the bed, Fëanáro rolling off of him. Ñolofinwë reached out for him, panting, and they curled up together, just listening to each other breathe, for a long time. 

\-----

Much later, Ñolofinwë nudged Fëanáro. "What will our wives think?"

Fëanáro let out a gasp of a laugh. "Nerdanel's not going to like it at all, especially considering I regret nothing and would do this again in a heartbeat." He stroked a hand down Ñolofinwë's side, tracing a pattern on his hip. 

Ñolofinwë grinned foolishly, then sobered. "I don't know what Anairë will think. I hope she will understand." He let a smile drift back onto his face. "I could argue that she all but gave me permission - I did tell her I would do anything for the sake of peace with you." 

Fëanáro kissed him. "Not only for the sake of peace, I hope." 

Ñolofinwë returned the kiss, arms going around him. "Not only, indeed. Far more, my brother, my love." 

"My love," Fëanáro echoed. "I like the sound of that." He kissed Ñolofinwë's shoulder. "I want to have you again." He thrust against Ñolofinwë's hip, making his meaning clear, and reached down to fondle Ñolofinwë's cock, rapidly hardening. 

"As much as you want. Anything you want," Ñolofinwë said, going breathless at Fëanáro's touch. He rolled onto his back, spreading his legs, and Fëanáro moved atop him. This time was face-to-face, slow and gentle, Fëanáro inside him - and it hurt a little, but Ñolofinwë didn't care - and Ñolofinwë's legs around Fëanáro's waist, drawing him close. Fëanáro slid his arms underneath Ñolofinwë, lifting him up so they could trade kisses with each thrust. 

If the previous time had been a fire raging out of control, this was an ocean, wave after wave sweeping over them, washing them gently up into release. Fëanáro's hand on Ñolofinwë was tempered and slow, and Ñolofinwë could feel every callus, every scar. He watched Fëanáro's face, lost in bliss, and it was that as much as Fëanáro's hand on him, Fëanáro's cock in him, that tipped him over the edge. 

When it was over, and Fëanáro was curled up once more by his side, Ñolofinwë stretched gently, testing his muscles, finding aches in places he was unused to. His hole felt stretched open, Fëanáro's come seeping out of it, terribly exciting and embarrassing at the same time. It felt like he was covered in come, his own drying on his stomach, on the blankets beneath him. Fëanáro reached out a hand, sweeping it through the white fluid on his belly, and then licked his fingers off. Ñolofinwë's mouth went dry at the sight. 

"Why did we never figure this out before?" Ñolofinwë found himself saying, in wonder. 

"I didn't think you felt about me the way I felt about you," Fëanáro said, picking up Ñolofinwë's hand - the one wearing the ring - and looking at it. "You never seemed to wear my gift." 

_It didn't go with the rest of my wardrobe_ seemed like a pathetic excuse, so Ñolofinwë didn't say it, instead murmuring, "No," and "Aren't you glad I finally figured out that I should?"

"It's more than just a pretty thing," Fëanáro said. "This was the first time I ever put something of myself into a gem."

"Something of yourself?" Ñolofinwë asked. "How?" 

"The exact technical details are smithcraft secrets," Fëanáro said, with a smile. "But it is possible, with a certain method involving words spoken and thought, to transfer some amount of your own _fea_ into it, to be stored there. This is very hard to do and I am the only one so far who has succeeded." He traced a finger over the ring on Ñolofinwë's hand. "This is why I call this ring the Kindler, for it lit the flame for all my study, and was the precursor to my greatest project, which I am working on now." 

Fëanáro dropped Ñolofinwë's hand suddenly and leaned in against him, nuzzling at his shoulder. "Ah, the smell of you!" he said with a soft groan. "I could - almost - again."

Ñolofinwë smiled, leaning into the touch. "You're completely insatiable; no wonder you have seven sons," he said. 

"Well, you're completely maddening in a much nicer way than you've ever been before," Fëanáro said, sliding his hand over Ñolofinwë's chest, thumb caressing a nipple as he passed it. 

"I am glad that I have found a way to please you at last," Ñolofinwë said, almost shy. He leaned in and kissed Fëanáro softly. "And yet there are things we must speak of. I did not call you here for this." He blushed. "And yet it has been a most pleasurable outcome."

Fëanáro was watching him carefully. "What did you call me here for, then?" he asked, tone neutral. 

"I have heard rumours," Ñolofinwë said. "I have heard that you have been told that I plan to usurp your place, and that you react to this by making weapons, as if to threaten or harm me or mine."

Fëanáro glanced away. "And what is your plan?" he said, tone a little colder. 

"Not that, Fëanáro," Ñolofinwë said. "Not that, brother. I would not take your rightful place, but I can take those duties which you clearly do not care for, and let you work in peace without the burden of frustrating council meetings, boring administration, and having to be diplomatic always. But I would not have you plan to harm any of us and I greatly worry about this rumour I hear of weapons forged." 

"Hmmm," Fëanáro said, looking into Ñolofinwë's eyes. "I do believe your sincerity." 

Ñolofinwë laughed. "I should hope that you do, considering what has just passed between us, and what will again without a doubt."

"The weapons," Fëanáro said. "I do not forge them as a threat to you, brother. This I promise." 

"Then what for?" Ñolofinwë was confused. "Why make such things if you do not intend to use them?" 

"I do intend so," Fëanáro said, "at some distant point, but not against my kin." His face lit up suddenly, a great passion filling it. "I want to take our people back home, as many as will come. In Cuivenen the waters ran sweet, and there under the unclouded sky a free people could walk. We could build so many great works, now that we can defend ourselves. We have no need of the Valar's protection, indeed, their protection has become a cage that stifles us all!" 

It was as if lightning pierced Ñolofinwë's brain. He could see himself ruling wide lands, fair and free, King of a people who answered to no higher power, who ran unfettered through the length and breadth of Arda. "It is a grand plan," Ñolofinwë said, almost breathless. "I like it."

"It is but a spark now, brother," Fëanáro said. "But a day will come - will you stand with me then, will you help me kindle the flame?" 

"I will!" Ñolofinwë said, and reached for Fëanáro even as Fëanáro reached for him. Their kiss was hard and fierce, and they moved against each other, hands reaching for each other's cocks as one. 

Fëanáro groaned into Ñolofinwë's mouth. "Yes, just like that," he said, raising his head. Ñolofinwë leaned close and bit his throat, not hard enough to leave a mark, but hard enough that Fëanáro groaned under him. They came at nearly the same moment, and Ñolofinwë licked his fingers off, one by one, then reached for Fëanáro's hand and did the same, tasting himself and Fëanáro mingled together with a groan of pleasure. 

Fëanáro looked over at the edge of the curtains at the other end of the room. "It's the Mingling," he said softly. 

"Not moving," Ñolofinwë groaned, throwing an arm and a leg over Fëanáro to keep him there. Fëanáro smiled, wrapping his free arm around Ñolofinwë's neck, and drawing him down so that their foreheads were pressed together. They dozed for a long while like that, long after the Mingling was done. 

\-----

Ñolofinwë awoke with a start and found that Fëanáro was sleeping next to him, beautiful in the silver light. He was sore and aching in several places, but could not keep the smile from his face. Carefully, he untangled himself from Fëanáro, smiling at the sticky, dried-in, fluids that covered his body. 

Naked, he made his way over to the table at the other end of the room, and poured two glasses of water, bringing them back to the bed. 

"Fëanáro," he said, and his brother stirred, looking up at him. He sat up, looking almost as wrecked as Ñolofinwë felt. 

"I love you," Fëanáro said, holding out his hand for one of the glasses. 

"I hope you're not just saying that because I have what you want," Ñolofinwë teased, pretending to hold back the glass, but then handing it to him. Fëanáro smiled, and then drank all of the water all at once. 

"It's the middle of the night," he observed, setting the glass down on the table next to the bed. "I'm surprised no one's knocked. They probably think we've killed each other." 

"It'll be a horrible scandal when they discover we haven't," Ñolofinwë said with a wry smile, drinking his own water. 

"Even better," Fëanáro said. "We've managed to resolve our differences to our mutual complete and total satisfaction." He looked over at Ñolofinwë. "Haven't we?" 

Ñolofinwë smiled. "Yes, but I think to ensure our continued, ah, friendly relations, we will need to repeat these meetings. Frequently." 

"Daily. Possibly hourly," Fëanáro mused. "No, sadly not possible. Slightly less frequently. Weekly?" 

"Tirion will become bored by the sight of you," Ñolofinwë said. "But yes, weekly will do."

"Hmm," Fëanáro said, climbing down from the bed, reaching over and kissing Ñolofinwë on the corner of the mouth. "Weekly it is then. Are you going to tell your wife of the true nature of these negotiations?"

"Yes," Ñolofinwë said. Doing anything else was untenable.

Fëanáro was gathering up his clothes. "Well, I will do the same. But I'm hiding everything sharp in the house first." 

\-----

Ñolofinwë slipped into his own house just as the Mingling was beginning. Anairë was sleeping in their bed, curled onto her side. Ñolofinwë quickly slid out of his clothes and into the bed, and she stirred gently. "I expected you to be late," she said mildly, "but this is really quite -" she looked over at him, puzzled. "The meeting went well?" 

Ñolofinwë went red. "Very well. Really, very well. I - we -". He had no idea how to say what he had to say. _My brother and I fucked each other senseless and hashed out our differences in pillow talk afterwards_ was true enough, but it was not the right way to tell your wife. 

She leaned over, eyes wary. "You _smell_ different," she said. 

Ñolofinwë panicked. "Fëanáro and I - we - you said something about an explosion of positive feeling and that's what happened. Kissing. And more than kissing. A lot more than kissing, really." 

Anairë sat up, eyes wide, a speculative look on her face. "How much more than kissing?" 

"Very much more?" Ñolofinwë offered weakly. "Three times over."

Anairë covered her mouth with her hand, but it wasn't enough to stop her startled laughter. "I can't believe you!" she said, but the look on her face was amusement, not anger. "That means Nerdanel's won the bet. Damn you, you couldn't have waited another month?" 

Relief swept over Ñolofinwë, followed swiftly by confusion. "Wait, you were betting on when Fëanáro and I would...?" 

Anairë was laughing openly now. "It started as a joke between the three of us, myself, Nerdanel, and Eärwen, at our regular meeting of the unofficial Married-Into-Finwë's-House Support Group. At least I did better than Eärwen, she didn't think you would for at least another year."

"So you don't have a problem with this, is that what you're saying?" Ñolofinwë tried to stick to the main point, brain whirling in confusion. "You really were giving me permission?" 

She leaned in, kissing him firmly on the mouth. "Yes," she said. "Did you actually talk as well?" 

Ñolofinwë nodded. "We did." He took a deep breath. "Tell me, love, how do you feel about - one day - journeying back across the Sea, exploring the wide lands and finding a kingdom of our own?" He reached out, taking her hand. "You could be my queen." 

She raised an interested eyebrow, settling back against him as the golden light got brighter. "Tell me more."


End file.
